


Vertigo

by Amanitus



Series: {The Garden of Earthly Delights} Prepositions Ficlets [1]
Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Canon Universe, Churches & Cathedrals, Ciel is possibly a tiny little bit terrified of heights, Ficlet, M/M, One Shot, Sacrilege, Sebastian tells ANOTHER story, Semi-Public Sex, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-26
Updated: 2020-07-26
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:22:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25519492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amanitus/pseuds/Amanitus
Summary: ‘Are you sure you don’t need assistance, sir?’And that’s when Ciel realised he must look as sick as he felt for Sebastian to even risk a direct question.‘I’m fine,’ he said. ‘Completely fine.’He was glad he was wearing gloves or his knuckles would be visible, white on the railings, tight around his brass-topped cane.[A ficlet written for Kinkmas in July on Tumblr.]
Relationships: Sebastian Michaelis/Ciel Phantomhive
Series: {The Garden of Earthly Delights} Prepositions Ficlets [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1848796
Comments: 6
Kudos: 119





	Vertigo

‘Are you sure you don’t need assistance, sir?’

And that’s when Ciel realised he must look as sick as he felt for Sebastian to even risk a direct question. 

‘I’m fine,’ he said. ‘Completely fine.’

He was glad he was wearing gloves or his knuckles would be visible, white on the railings, tight around his brass-topped cane.

The butler was smiling down at him, though. Tidily. Unruffled despite the keen wind that gusted between them. 

‘Perhaps it is better if you step out of the cold, my lord.’

Ciel pulled his eyes away again from the city outstretched below them, the swell of London and the glitter of Ludgate Hill through the morning fog. His hair whipped in his eyes. 

Sebastian’s upturned collar hardly fluttered.

‘I’m fine,’ Ciel said again. Automatically. His top-hat twitched, catching the gust. But Ciel didn’t dare to take his left hand away from the railing. 

They were at the top of St Paul’s Cathedral, the Golden Gallery at the pinnacle of the grand dome, and this walkway around the outside of it had the best view in the city. They were alone up here, apart from the echo of voices from the stairwell behind them, and Ciel was grateful for that much; he didn’t want anybody to see him like this. His eyes were blurring with the cold air. His chest was tight. 

‘Well.’ The butler’s low voice held a note of surprise. ‘I thought I’d seen everything, sir. But I never imagined I’d see the Earl of Phantomhive conquered by a stiff wind and a stairway.’

‘It isn’t asthma,’ Ciel said impatiently. Although maybe it was better than admitting–

‘Ah. I see. My lord is not fond of heights.’

Ciel shot him a look, sharp and dirty. ‘It’s the tallest bloody building in London, anyone would feel a little queasy.’

‘It is a lot of steps, sir.’ Soothingly.

528 steps. Ciel had been counting. Up the dizzying tight spiral and the wrought-iron railing.

‘Come along, sir.’

Ciel closed his eyes. ‘Just a moment.’

‘The Commissioner will be waiting, they can only keep the body for another hour before it’s removed to the morgue.’

Ciel nodded. It was work, always work, a wealthy American tourist found dead in the Whispering Gallery somewhere beneath them; but the man had links to a San Francisco mining company, and Ciel had wanted to know more. And Sebastian, bloody son of a hellspawn bitch that he was, _Sebastian_ had dragged him up here to look over the city of London. 

And now Ciel wasn’t sure if he could make it back down the stairs without being sick all over his boots.

‘Shall I carry you back down, young master?’

‘Shut it, you.’ Ciel’s eyes were squeezed tightly shut. 

But he felt the strong grip on his fingers, the butler prying his hand from the iron railing, and then he was out of the wind. Two steps away. Back beside the open alcove doorway of the dome with the heavy wall at his back and the burning smog of London in his throat. And the world was still open in front of him, but he could lean back into the safety of the solid stone. He could breathe.

His hands were icy within his gloves.

Ciel opened his eyes.

Sebastian was crouching at his feet. Removing his master’s top-hat. ‘Your pulse is too fast, sir.’ Eye-level with him, that dangerous hot gaze.

‘Well, I–’ It was true. It ran down the length of Ciel’s back, shivering. And how much simpler it was to focus on Sebastian’s face than the gape of the blank air beyond the demon’s body.

‘It is a reaction to the fear, sir.’

‘It isn’t bloody _fear_ –’

‘I see.’ The butler put out his hand, cool black leather-bound fingers, and Ciel flinched at the touch against his neck. ‘It smells very much like fear, young master.’

‘Well, it isn’t.’ Shortly. 

Another few breaths and he’d be steady again. Ready to walk again, back down the winding staircase to the clatter of the newsmen, the heavy-booted coppers, all clomping around beneath them in the Whispering Gallery. He could hear them from up here. Their voices echoing, rising to talk over each other. 

Sebastian’s gloved hand was lingering. Sliding down Ciel’s body.

‘Oi,’ said Ciel, ‘ _watch_ that–’

But the demon’s hand was burrowing. Under the folds of the heavy woollen great-coat, and his fingers were curling down between Ciel’s legs. 

‘Not fear?’ Sebastian was leaning closer. His shoulder was warm against Ciel’s chest. ‘Perhaps I am mistaken, sir; it has been known to happen. On extraordinarily rare occasions.’

Ciel bit his lip. He was used to this. To the way the creature cornered him at odd times, in quick stolen moments, to arouse him and torment him– and leave him breathless or spent or wiping the demon’s bitter taste from his lips. 

This, though. 

‘There is nothing to be afraid of, sir.’

‘I’m not afraid.’ 

Ciel’s cock swelled against his leg. It shouldn’t have.

‘Fear is only a step away from excitement, my lord. A breath of air from terror to pleasure. Adventurers have always known this. The early aeronauts discovered it, too. The Montgolfier brothers, who invented the _globe aérostatique_ , the hot air balloon, powered by burning hydrogen– shall I tell you?’

Ciel spat. ‘I don’t need another of your bloody stories–’ 

But his butler ignored him. ‘That was in 1783. And the following year, a clever Italian gentleman by the name of Lunardi brought his own balloon to London. He and his assistant acquired permission from the king to fly the thing publicly, and they invited two guests: Colonel Hastings, and the city’s most famed actress; Letitia Sage, a woman of immense– _charms_.’ Sebastian smiled sharply. 

Ciel swallowed, his throat hot. Convulsed. He tried to wriggle. Sebastian’s hands held him firmly; over his chest. Between his legs.

‘Mr Lunardi designed the basket carefully, no awkward woven wall for a lady in corsetry to clamber over. There was a gap in the wicker railing, and a high curtain over the entrance. And the vast swell of the balloon above. Pretty as a child’s dream.’

Sebastian’s fingers were curling almost absently into Ciel’s cock as he spoke. Stirring. While the butler continued speaking, quite smoothly, and Ciel knew his body was _reacting_ , damn it. If the creature would only shut up he might have a chance to escape unembarrassed. But Sebastian’s voice was liquid syrup, trickling through Ciel’s mind. 

He felt the flush of his cock beneath the sound. The touch.

‘There was a problem on the day, however. The ballast for the airship basket had been carefully calculated, and the amount of hydrogen was somehow insufficient. Either that, or Mrs Sage had been a little shy about her exact weight. Either way, the basket refused to leave the ground, and both Colonel Hastings and Mr Lunardi were obliged to step out of the basket.

‘The balloon rose abruptly. Can you imagine, sir? Higher than any building, unsteady in the air. Nothing to hold on to. And it jerked at the end of its tether, and the curtain fell open. And the crowd beneath all saw it, quite clearly– Mrs Sage on her hands and knees, entirely inappropriately, and Mr Biggin the assistant behind her, and the official stories afterwards involved something about _trying to close the curtain_ or _retrieving a fallen earring_.

‘The truth was simpler. Lust had proven stronger than fear and the edge of it had gotten to both of them.’

Sebastian squeezed. Ciel gasped.

‘And the assistant fucked the actress, a thousand feet up in the air. Breathless over the city.’

‘Ah, stop–’

‘But you can scarcely blame them, sir. The novelty of flight. The sheer excitement of it. And terror, yes. Fear is not such a bad thing if it is harnessed cleverly.’ 

‘I’m not _afraid_ –’

‘No.’ Sebastian’s nose brushed the side of Ciel’s cheek. ‘I am easily the most dangerous thing within a hundred miles of us. And you are not frightened of me, are you, my lord?’

‘No.’ 

Sebastian sighed. ‘No, sir. Not as frightened as you really should be, with a beast at your heels. With a monster in your bed. Perhaps you have forgotten what fear tastes like.’

Ciel opened his mouth to protest but no words formed. He only gasped as the sky dipped under his feet. Sebastian was picking him up. 

And then Ciel was shaking, set down on his feet, his back to the iron railings, and Sebastian’s strong hands were pinning him there. His back to the void beyond.

‘You can’t– _hell_ –’

The rails bit sharp across Ciel’s shoulder blades. The wind caught his caped greatcoat, a swoop like wings around his legs.

His cane clattered on the stone at his feet. He clung to his butler’s coat.

‘You bastard–’

‘Yes, sir.’ Sebastian’s mouth was close beside his neck.

‘I’ll bloody _fall_ –’

‘No, sir. Not unless I drop you over the edge.’

‘Sebastian, you fucking–’

‘And even if I did I would hardly let you die, young master; that would be no fun for either of us. I’ve got you. I’ve got you, so there’s nothing at all to fear, is there?’ The butler sat back on his heels to smile. ‘Except for the sheer drop behind you, 280 ft to the ground. Give or take a few inches for the natural soil compaction over 170 years. Actually, you wouldn’t even make it to the ground, sir; if my calculations are correct your corpse would shatter over the roof of the South Trancept.’

‘Shut up–’ Ciel closed his eyes tightly. 

And he felt the warm breath at his cheek again, the weight of the demon’s body shifting close against his chest again. 

‘There,’ said Sebastian quietly, ‘there.’ He was unbuttoning Ciel’s shorts, his hands tucked deep beneath the heavy coat. ‘This response is a little more appropriate, sir. Your pulse is tripping over itself. Your eyes have dilated nicely. And your scent is quite revealingly distressed.’

Sebastian slipped his hand inside Ciel’s shorts. The demon’s thumb kneaded deeply, a tease between Ciel’s stiff legs.

‘But you are no less excited, though; ah. Fascinating.’

Ciel shuddered. He gasped the sharp air. Clean, cold, straight down his throat to the shiver of his cock in Sebastian’s grip.

He opened his eyes again. ‘What do you think you’re doing?’ His voice sharpened in rage. ‘If somebody were to come up here–’

‘I agree, sir.’ Sebastian’s voice was warm. ‘It wouldn’t be very good at all. A peer of the realm with his cock in his servant’s hand. In public, no less-’

‘Let me go.’ Ciel didn’t want to beg. 

‘I don’t think you are ready to go back downstairs yet, sir. Not like this, ill and trembling. I think you need another moment. One more moment. Softly, now–’

‘I can’t do this–’ 

The demon’s fingers tugged. Squeezed. And his other hand was gripping Ciel’s hip and pinned him back against the railing. Ciel couldn’t even arch away from the iron bars. The ache of pleasure hummed bright behind his eyes. Cold in his belly. He didn’t want to move. He was going to be sick.

‘You already are, sir. You’re hard already. If I don’t stop you’ll finish in a heartbeat–’

‘Stop, Sebastian–’

‘The line between terror and delight is so very delicate, sir. For mortals. For you, I think, my little master.’

‘It isn’t–’ Ciel gritted his teeth– ‘bloody terror.’ He closed his eyes. His blood was ice. But his cock pulsed hot in his demon’s fingers.

‘No, sir. I’m sure it isn’t. You are leaning back against a sturdy barricade, of course. Cast iron. I have every confidence it will prevent you from falling to your death.’

‘ _Damn_ you–’

‘Logically there is nothing at all to be concerned about, sir. And I know how fond you are of logic.’

Ciel couldn’t breathe. Logic could calm his mind. It couldn’t stop the clammy clench of his fingers.

‘I would be concerned if you were not afraid, young master. We fear the things that feel unnatural to us; the wrongness burns in our bones. Do you think I cannot understand that? I am at your side because you order it. A demon bound by duty. In a church, my lord. On consecrated ground at his master’s order. Do you think it doesn’t take the breath from my body?’

Sebastian’s grip was merciless.

‘And mortals were made to walk the face of the earth, and not to be up here. Not to be dragged away from safety and left hanging at the top of a cathedral. Dizzy. I can imagine how it feels for you, sir. I like to imagine it. When the world is pulled from under your feet, and all you have to hold is the air itself– the utter emptiness, clean and empty and cold enough to cut you–’

Ciel quivered. His thighs clenched together. He moaned against Sebastian’s shoulder.

And the answering sigh enveloped his cheek hotly as he spilt into his servant’s leather glove.

‘There you go, my lord,’ said the demon, ‘that wasn’t so very difficult, was it?’

Ciel couldn’t answer. Collapsing against the iron railing behind him. The wind sharp between his parted legs.

Warm to his very fingertips, and breathing deep into his lungs. Air like wine, drowning. Drowsy. 

He felt Sebastian buttoning him up again. And his fingers fell loose from the butler’s collar, and Sebastian was pressing the brass-topped cane into his hand. Ciel gripped it.

And he opened his eyes, a glance at the demon kneeling in front of him.

‘You need to ask before you do these things.’ Ciel sniffed. Shivered. Rubbed his nose with the back of his gloved hand.

‘Oh, sir.’ The demon sighed. ‘You would never say yes. This is my duty.’ He leaned in one last time, settling the folds of his master’s great-coat. His cheek brushed Ciel’s. ‘Your instinct is to follow the things you like, sir. My duty is to make you enjoy the things you don’t.’

Sebastian stood up.

‘That’s not your duty.’ Ciel took the top-hat that his butler handed him, and settled it firmly on his head. ‘That’s just your bloody entertainment.’

‘Well, my lord, your fears will dissolve all the more swiftly if you can find a way to enjoy them.’ 

Ciel turned back to the stairwell, and the butler fell into step behind him. ‘Oh?’

‘And my duties pass all the more swiftly if I can find a way to make them pleasurable for myself.’

‘I despise you.’ Ciel couldn’t even hear the demon’s light footsteps on the iron steps, only the clatter of his own heeled boots. The rising echo of the voices in the gallery below.

‘I am sure of it, sir.’ Sebastian sounded as though he were smiling. ‘But I would be a little more sure if your cock didn’t twitch every time I touch you.’

Ciel pretended not to hear. He wasn’t the only one who could pretend. 

And then they were back in the buzz of the world, at the arch of the Whispering Gallery, a deafening clamour of press and policemen, and Ciel stepped back into his duty. 

With his dog where he ought to be, a walking shadow as vast as the cathedral dome above.

**Author's Note:**

> Sebastian’s story is a true one, of course. And you can visit the Golden Gallery of St. Paul's cathedral too, if you like. Take a demon with you for the most exhilarating experience.


End file.
